


The Bird

by Zoeleo



Series: Rara Avis [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Children, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Or Bruce adopts Jason but doesn't make him Robin, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoeleo/pseuds/Zoeleo
Summary: “I found it,” Jason explains anxiously. “I looked up what you should do if you found a baby bird, but I couldn’t find its nest to put it back and we waited and waited but never saw a momma bird come to feed it… And it started getting dark and it’s supposed to rain tonight and I didn’t want it to be out there alone in the rain and cold. So Alfred helped me make a nest and I promise I’ll take care of him. I’ll feed him every three hours and change the nesting when he poops.”Oh great. There's poo involved.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Rara Avis [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/575182
Comments: 49
Kudos: 237





	The Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone. Life is hard. Have some feels. Thanks to [Nykyrianne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nykyrianne/pseuds/Nykyrianne), for beta-ing!

Jason doesn't run to meet him. That isn't terribly unusual, Jason is more reserved in expressing his emotions than Dick ever was. As if even the simple act of welcoming his father home might reveal a vulnerability if it's done with too much excitement. He hopes that will change one day. He's willing to wait for it... Still, it is unusual for his arrival home to go completely ignored. The kitchen is empty, odd for this time of day, but the air is fragrant with the scent of bubbling marinara sauce and there is a timer running down on the oven clock.

He wanders through the downstairs, peeking into the parlors and dens. He stops by the library, one of Jason's favorite haunts, but that's empty too. Vaguely disconcerted he climbs the stairs to the family quarters on the second floor. It's quiet here as well. No screeching guitar riffs or pounding bass lines from Jason's stereo shake the bespoke paneling. The door to his room is ajar though, so he makes his way towards it. He hovers outside for a minute, listening to the hushed voices within curiously. He sticks his head inside and sees Alfred and Jay, huddled closely over the desk, their attentions entirely absorbed on something hidden from his view.

He doesn't mean to sneak, but the quiet is contagious. His footfalls are muted by the thick carpeting as he draws up immediately behind the pair.

"What are you two up to?" he asks.

He smirks at the slight jolt of Alfred's shoulders. After suffering through his teenage years under the uncannily watchful eyes of the butler, some turnabout is fair play. His smug satisfaction is spoiled however with guilt as Jason practically levitates off the floor. Alfred turns a withering glare on him and settles a hand on Jason's shoulder in comfort.

"A very delicate endeavor, sir. If you would be so kind," he admonishes.

The pointed words drive Bruce a step back. Then Jason and Alfred part, allowing him to see what has them both so enthralled. Jason's desk is clear of the homework and notebooks that normally litter it, and in their place is one of the kitchen colanders? It's lined with paper towels and clean dust cloths and at its center rests a small purplish thing with wispy feathers clinging to thin near translucent skin.

"I looked up what you're supposed ta do if you find a baby bird," Jason explains nervously, "but I couldn't find its nest to put it back, and we waited and waited but never saw a momma bird come to feed it… And it started getting dark and it’s supposed to rain tonight and I didn’t want it to be out there alone in the rain and cold.” Jason turns dangerously earnest eyes up at him. Impossibly big, blue, and pleading in his thin face. "So Alfred helped me make a nest and I promise I'll take care of it! I’ll feed it every three hours like you gotta and change the nesting when he poops.”

Bruce's heart sinks at the mention of poo. 

“You know you have school tomorrow, I can’t let you miss that for this. And this little guy is going to need constant care for days if not weeks," he cautions.

Jason's lip trembles. He looks down at the little life he's saved morosely.

"I am perfectly capable of feeding the poor thing in between laundry and polishing the parquet, I assure you," Alfred saves the boy. "I will take care of the creature while Master Jason is at school. It will not be an issue. All things can be accomplished through a bit of team work."

Light comes back into Jason's eyes and he thanks the older gentleman profusely. Bruce listens warily. He doesn't want to be the killjoy. Despite Hal Jordan's claims, he doesn't enjoy bringing others down; but sometimes it's necessary to temper a situation with reality and more often than not he finds himself having to step into that position.

"And through the night? When are you going to sleep? Are you going to wake up every three hours and feed it?”

“I can set an alarm!” Jason instantly counters, his high voice high and agitated.

“And are you going to be able to make it through your classes without falling asleep because you were up all night?”

The tremble comes back and Bruce sighs. He crosses his fingers that there won't be any Arkham outbreaks the next few nights. This kid. Has him wrapped around his short spindly fingers. At least Dick isn't here to see how easily he caves.

"How about we take turns? You feed it before you go to bed at nine. I’ll feed him at midnight. You feed him at three. Then I’ll feed him while you get ready for school at six?"

At least this way Jason should get a chance at a decent night’s sleep, and it’s not like he wouldn’t be up that late running around as Batman anyway. Jason perks up and nods enthusiastically. He dodges forward and wraps his arms around Bruce in a lightning fast hug before skipping back again.

“Thank you, thank you! Okay, so,” he pipes imperiously up at Bruce, and points to some of the other objects on the desktop. “This,” Jason lifts up what Bruce realizes with dawning horror is one of the travel tumblers from the blender he makes his workout recovery smoothies in is filled with pinkish-brown goo and dotted with black flecks, “Izzit’s food. We ordered meal worms and crickets from the pet store and I dug up some worms out of the garden and mixed them all up with some water. And this is the dropper ya got ta feed him with. At least one full dropper per feeding, yeah? And over here are the extra tissues to replace the others when he poos.”

Bruce glances at Alfred over Jason’s head, but his puppy-dog eyes must leave something more to be desired than Jason’s because the old man simply raises his eyebrows coolly and informs him, “This is quite important Master Bruce. Young Master Jason has spent all afternoon researching the proper care and techniques. It would do you well to listen to him.”

Bruce resigns himself to buying a second blender and obeys, stepping forward and stooping down to catch all of Jason’s excited instructions. He’s impressed. The boy really has done his research, becoming a veritable avian expert in the span of a few short hours. Intelligent and compassionate and motivated, all great traits for a future Robin. He wishes the whole world could see how amazing this kid is, no – how amazing his _son_ is. He wants to hold him up and show him off. Jason would make such a great Robin, such a great role model for Gotham’s youth to look up to and aspire to be like. 

It's just... Maybe Gotham deserves a Robin like Jason, but does Jason deserve to carry the weight of Gotham's hopes and dreams on his scrawny shoulders? He gives himself a mental shake and shelves the thought to return to at a later time. 

Jason stays up in his room and completes his homework at the desk's edge, letting the makeshift nest and its occupant rest under the warm light of his desk lamp. They have to convince him to come down for dinner where he stays just long enough to wolf up his meal before disappearing upstairs again in a flash. He’s sitting at the desk in his pajamas when Bruce comes up to wish him good night. His homework has been cleaned up, finished, and put in his backpack, he’s tipped back in the chair with his nose in a book. 

“I was serious about you trying to get some sleep tonight. Time for bed, Jay-lad.”

Jason closes his book, nose wrinkled in that adorable when he thinks Bruce is being unfair. All four legs of the chair touch the ground.

“But… I’m not sleepy tonight. Can’t I stay up a little later? What if it _needs_ me?”

“Have you fed it?”

Jason nods. 

“And given him new nesting?”

Jason nods again.

“Then you’ve taken care of it as much as you can and it’s time for bed,” Bruce points to the furniture piece for emphasis. “It’ll be fine for the next three hours.”

Jason groans but relents, slumping out his chair dramatically and crawling across the ground towards the bed, where he pulls himself up and slides in under the covers. Bruce watches in amusement waiting for his curly head to pop out by the pillows.

"This is a good thing you're doing Jason, but it may not be a good idea to get too attached," he says, ruffling Jason's hair further.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a wild animal. Not a pet. It's going to have to be released back into the outdoors, once it's big enough to take care of itself. Don't forget that."

"I know," Jason pouts. "I promise I'll let it go. I just... wanted to help it though. It's too little to be all alone."

Bruce wraps an arm around his son and squeezes. "You're right. It is."

Jason squirms uncomfortably at the prolonged contact, and Bruce makes himself let go. 

"You have your alarm set?" Jason asks, changing tack and sounding more like a trained interrogator than a twelve year old child.

“Yes.”

“On your watch or phone?”

“Both,” Bruce answers. 

“Okay. Well…” Jason frowns, having run out of excuses for extending his stay up. "I've got mine set for three. So, I guess..."

“It will be okay, Jason. I’ve got some WE business I’ve brought home with me. I can take it to the study with me and watch it while I look over quarterly reports.”

Jason bites his lip, a line forms between his brows as he thinks. 

“Yeah. I guess that’d be okay. If you don’t mind…”

“It’s fine,” he answers, smiling as he gently settles the colander and its precious contents in the crook of his elbow, then picks up the blender and its disgusting contents. “Good night, Jay. Sweet dreams.”

He turns off the lamp and closes the door behind him. His first instinct is to head to the Cave. If he can’t go out as Batman, he may as well monitor the city from there, except… He looks down at the fragile helpless hatchling and frowns. The Cave has always had a chill to it. He supposes he can catch up with casework in the study just as well as in the Cave. He'll just have to rely on listening in on the police radio upstairs. It will be like the good old days, before he’d built and installed his very own supercomputer.

He keeps one ear towards the speaker next to his laptop tuned into the frequency used by the GCPD, and one towards his barely feathered companion. Alfred comes in sometime before midnight with a plate full of jammy dodgers and a very welcome cup of coffee. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes until the afterburn of timelines and toxicity reports fade from the back of his eyelids.

“Quiet night?” Alfred asks.

“Hm?” Bruce opens his eyes. “Oh. Yes. A jewelry store was broken into on West Main, and there was an armed robbery at a gas station in Southside, but no one hurt. Cops are taking care of it. Rogues are laying low tonight.” 

“And our avian friend?”

Bruce glances down at the colander. 

“Quiet too. But I suspect that won't last much longer. It's been a few hours since Jason fed it last. Do you know where he found it?”

Alfred takes a biscuit, he turns it in his fingers inspecting the shiny jam-filled center.

“He found it when he went to check the mailbox for me, under one of the birches lining the drive. He was very distraught at its plight.”

“He’s a good kid,” Bruce agrees. “I hope he’s not too upset if this ends up like the chipmunk.”

Alfred’s eyebrows arch. “I had quite forgotten about that. You were near inconsolable.” 

“In my defense, I was what, six?”

The butler pops the biscuit in his mouth and hums. “Seven.”

“I had never seen anything die before.”

Before Ace, his father had owned a mastiff hound named Behr. Behr was already old in Bruce's earliest memories, his muzzle stained with silver. He was large, well trained, and generally friendly though a bit slobbery. One evening he'd brought a chipmunk into the den where they were gathered after dinner. They weren't sure if Behr had done the damage, or if he had found it already hurt and simply brought it to them, but Bruce had been determined to save it. They cleaned its wounds and spoon-fed it formula and wrapped the poor shaking thing in a towel to keep it warm.

He wishes it was the last thing he'd ever seen die.

If wishes were fishes there'd be no room for Arthur under the sea. 

“If only that were young Master Jason’s experience as well,” Alfred murmurs, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to brush confectionary sugar from his fingertips.

Bruce winces. He'd lost his parents far too early, but before that his life had been near idyllic. He hears Jason sometimes, when he's slinking back to his room after shedding the cape and cowl, he'll pass Jason's door and hear the rustling of sheets and whimpering cries for his mom. It shreds his heart every time.

He puts a cookie in his mouth and chews. As if sensing that now is the time to eat, the hatchling begins to twitch and move. Protuberant eyes still closed its angles its head upwards, opens its beak and issues a high pitched cry. Bruce swigs down the last of his coffee while its demand for food grows ever louder and more insistent.

"Well, sounds like it's dinner time." He sets the mug back on the tray. "Thank you Alfred."

"You are most welcome, sir. Have a good night."

Bruce is filling the dropper with puree de repulsive, when his the alarms on his phone and watch go off. Startled, he fumbles the dropper right into the bug mash. He curses and shuts off the alarms, then glares at the noxious mixture. With a long suffering breath he closes his eyes and sticks his hand into the tumbler feeling for the small glass instrument. He retrieves it and wipes it off and fights the urge to immediately wash his hands. It's not as easy as nature documentaries make it look on tv to maneuver the the tip down the hatchlings throat and he spills some into the nesting. He curses again and scoops the bird into his clean hand while he swaps out the nesting with fresh tissues. Before he can settle it back into the colander, warmth runs between his fingers.

"Oh come on," he grumbles.

He lowers the bird into the nesting with a huff and then runs to wash off his hands. When he comes back he points a finger at his tiny ward.

"No. We are _not_ doing that again."

Sated and relieved the bird doesn't answer, tucking its head against its chin and drifting off to sleep. 

"Good."

He gather the bird and equipment and drops them back off in Jason's room, careful not to wake the sleeping boy, the sneaks down to the Cave. The forecasted rain has arrived in torrential downpours, keeping civilians and criminals alike in bed. He watches the monitors for a while to assure himself he hasn't missed anything catastrophic before eventually growing bored and returning back to case work. He spends the rest of the night entering backlogged reports into the computer's database until the screen starts to blur.

He blinks at the time read out. It's almost three in the morning. He didn't mean to stay down here for so long, but there's always work to do and it runs away with him. He scrubs his eyes and saves his progress. His path to his suite takes him by Jason's room and he puts an ear to the door as he passes. Inside he can hear the ring of Jason's alarm going off but nothing else. Then there's a thump and a soft groan and it's quiet again. He stifles a laugh and tests the door handle. To his surprise it turns in his hand. It wouldn’t have been the first time Jason wedged a chair under it’s handle. He peeks into the darkness.

"Jay?"

" _Hnnngh_."

"Jason. Wake up."

He turns on the lamp. A Jason-shaped lump stirs under the blankets. 

"Come on Jay-lad. You said you were going to be responsible for this."

Jason sits up in bed, bleary eyed and hair mussed. 

"Bru?"

"Yes. It's me. Come on. It's dinner time. Remember?"

"Dinn'r?" Jason mumbles and opens his mouth, jaw hanging agape.

Bruce smothers a chuckle, tears of mirth prick at his eyes.

"Not for you, Jay-lad. For the bird."

"Burr?"

"Yes, the bird."

"Burr."

Jason mumbles incomprehensibly and turns his face back into the pillow. He can't hold in the laugh that follows. He warms with affection and not a little victory. It's obvious evidence of improvement that Jason hadn't jolted awake in terror at finding Bruce in his room. That his subconscious didn't identify him as a threat. That he finally feels _safe_ , at the manor and in Bruce's company. If only he didn't have to wake him up. But Bruce knows his son and knows he will be disappointed in himself if he failed in this responsibility.

He cajoles Jason into the land of the living and herds him out of bed. The boy shuffles towards the desk and the lamp light seems to pierce through some of the hazy fog of slumber. Jason squints and grunts, then mutely begins to administer the bug mash. As soon as it's down the bird's hungry gullet, he's trundling back to bed where he collapses on top of the covers without a word. It's comedy of the highest order, Dick would be losing his mind if he were here.

"Good job," he whispers and pulls a blankets up over the boy so he doesn't get cold during the night. "I... I love you." He kisses Jason's forehead and it's another pleasant surprise when all he gets is a snore and not a head-butt. 

It's too late at this point to bother with going to bed himself, but he changes into a set of soft fleecy pajamas and decides a nap isn't out of order. He'll have breakfast with Alfred and Jason and pay off his sleep deficit after Alfred takes the boy to school. He doesn't dream but when his alarm goes off at six he wakes feeling not refreshed exactly, but deeply content. There's a smile on his face as he trudges back to Jason's room to help as promised.

"Jay-lad? You up?" he knocks and wonders if Jason remembers any of the night before, he can't wait to tease him.

There's a rustle of movement but no acknowledgement. The smile slips. He hopes Jason isn't sick again. That's about the only thing that can keep him from school.

"Jason? Are you decent? I said I'd take care of the bird while you get ready. You can't be late for school."

Still nothing. Bruce braces himself. Assuring his privacy had been of paramount importance when Jason moved in, but the silence doesn't feel right. He grabs hold of the door and gives one last warning.

"Jason, I'm coming in on the count of three. One. Two. Three."

Like earlier the door is still unlocked and swings in easily revealing an empty unmade bed.

"Jason? Oh, son."

Jason is sitting at the desk chair, legs crossed with the colander balanced between his knees. He’s hunched over it, forehead pressed to its rim as his shoulders shake. Bruce crosses over and kneels on the floor next to him. He presses a kiss to Jason’s sleep-matted curls. 

“It’s okay, son. It’s okay.”

Jason shakes his head. Tears tremble at the tip of his nose and chin, falling on to the motionless body cupped in his palms. 

“It’s not okay,” his voice cracks. “It—it…”

“I know, Jay-lad. I know. It’s hard.”

“I just… I don’t understand. I di-I did everything  _ right _ . I did ev-everything I was supposed to.”

His fingers twitch and Bruce carefully extracts the hatchling from his hands, settling it back into the tissues and placing the bowl on the desk. Out of sight and reach for at least the moment. He wraps his arms around his son and this time Jason doesn't squirm away.

“You did. It’s not your fault. You tried your best. That’s what matters.”

“I tried my best and it  _ didn’t _ matter!” Jason rasps, “It still died. I said I was going to take care of it and I failed. What am I supposed to do when my best isn’t good enough?”

“Jason, Jason, look at me. Okay? Sometimes these things just happen. No matter how hard you try, no matter how good of a job you do. We don’t know how long it was out there before you found it. Or if it had been hurt from falling out of the tree. But you made sure that it was warm and dry and as comfortable as we could make for it at the end. You made sure it was cared for, that it wasn’t scared or alone. And that makes a difference. It does.”

“I just wanted to help. I just wanted to sa-save it. I cou-couldn’t save her. And I just wa-wanted to save  _ some-something,”  _ Jason hiccups helplessly.

Bruce lets out a shaky breath and cradles the back of Jason’s head, rubbing the bumps at the back of his skull.

“I know, chum. I know.”

  
  


  
  



End file.
